


By Actions Rather Than Words

by orphan_account



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: (by which I mean it's not based off the historical figures-, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon - Musical, Dom!Eliza, Dom/sub, Everything is Beautiful and Nothing Hurts, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Gen, Light BDSM, Light Bondage, Multi, Oral Sex, Period Typical Attitudes, Sub!Hamilton, Sub!Laurens, i guess, just Miranda's interpretation)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-06
Updated: 2015-12-06
Packaged: 2018-05-05 07:49:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,797
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5367110
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>From this prompt at Hamilton Prompts on Tumblr:</p><p>BDSM!AU. Stubborn, sub!Alexander who fights his dom (John? Eliza? both? Eliza with both Alex and John as subs?) every step of the way but once he gives up he is sweet and cuddly and loves to be told how good he is.</p>
            </blockquote>





	By Actions Rather Than Words

**Author's Note:**

> I hate everything, Lin-Manuel Miranda especially.
> 
> But you should all check out Hamilton Prompts on tumblr!

Alexander has blood on his lip. God, Alexander is always wiping blood away from his face, flicking his handkerchief across the marks of British rapiers and rifle butts and the fists of those who have felt, in turn, the bite of his wit; he barely seems to recognise the pain beyond as an inconvenience, a minor obstacle in his path. Right now, the wound is just a split lip in the centre of what will tomorrow be a very impressive bruise. No one will pause to ask Alexander how he got it. They will simply presume he said the wrong thing to the wrong person again - and they won't be entirely incorrect.  
The expression on his face is one of defiance, fire and outrage blazing behind his eyes. It's so sharply different from the casual way he brushes off any usual pains that Eliza pauses for a moment, wondering how otherwise used he must be to the physical discomforts of life, if this how he responded to pain before he was orphaned. She's only ever seen this light in him (outside of their bedchamber) at the sound of any affronts to his honour. And then she wonders deeper, thinks _what perversion is this, to inflict further suffering on a man who has suffered enough already?_  
But she glances up, to the wide-eyed and trusting face of sweet Laurens, straddling her Alexander's hips and holding her Alexander's head between his hands. Unconsciously, her fingers tighten around her husband's wrists - Eliza is not a strong woman, and she most certainly does not have the ability to hold down the human whirlwind that is Alexander Hamilton; his hands are bound tightly to the headboard of their bed and she holds onto them more for appearance's sake than anything - and the faint guilt she feels evaporates.  
"Is it enough, ma'am?" Laurens gasps. Hamilton is struggling beneath him, but she has a sense that it is not manual exertion that has robbed him of his breath.  
"Fuck you," spits Alexander, before she can reply. "Fuck you, 'is it enough?', like I'm some goddamn object of yours-"  
"John," she says coolly. Alexander continues to spew obscenities at them, increasingly foul as he realises that they are paying no attention, but she would be a fool to think that he does not melt a little at the intimacy her rare use of Laurens's given name signals. "Hit him again."  
Laurens is so cute. He is a puppy in human form, infinitesimally Alexander's senior, and yet seeming like the very image of virtue and innocence as he obediently raises a hand to his best friend.  
"Do you submit, Alex?" whispers Laurens, hesitating a second with his fist pulled back. There is an audible plea in his words: Eliza thinks that if Alex does not very quickly do as he is told, she and Laurens will be having a very physical conversation on the nature of his previously unquestioning submission. She can only deal with one stubborn, rebellious boy at once, after all.  
"Like _hell_."  
Or maybe she won't, not at the way that John so readily, suddenly strikes him. It's almost an art. Alexander is far too pretty a thing to be permanently damaged in any way - _and you'd never forgive yourself_ , chides the voice of sanity from where she has tucked it away for the moment - but he needs a firm hand. The whimper that slips over his gilded tongue is musical.  
"You rob me of my clothes, now of my dignity?" He is panting between words, but still straining up against his restraints. Alexander will remain defiant to the bitter end if given the chance, which he won't be.  
"Why not?"  
Eliza's voice begins to sound alien to her ears. She is in control, and he will fight not to but he will give it up soon, and that will make all the difference. Her boys have too much dignity, really - Laurens, standing stiffly, nervously at the side of his father; Hamilton, upright but exhausted at Washington's right hand - where she is always so helpless.  
"Kiss him." she tells Laurens, who is fidgeting again on his lover's midriff- a particular vice of his, that inability to sit still, and one that she and Alexander have a lot of fun with in other... positions.  
Laurens does as he is told, their mouths meeting with violence and competition at first - Alexander's _teeth_ , Christ, and the moan that comes out of John at the touch of them - but then, well, she can't exactly see. She suspects that John's tongue is at play, because Alexander gasps and his head falls back onto the pillow in the most open gesture she's seen since he and Laurens started getting fidgety around the rope she got out earlier.  
Eliza leans down to her husband's lips, and John takes his cue well enough to move downwards to Alexander's neck.  
"Oh, Christ," he mumbles against her lips. "Eliza, Eliza. I-"  
"Hush."  
The word he was about to say is muffled by her mouth, but she suspects 'please'. Her Alexander usually does get to begging by this point in the proceedings - and much as she enjoys that, though, she is concentrating far too hard on the movements of her lips to think, listening to the soft cries that he's making.  
He tries to buck up as Laurens's kisses land on the sensitive expanse of his abdomen, and Eliza shifts so that she is sitting next to him; for a scant second, he looks afraid that she's going to move away.  
"Don't worry," she whispers, smoothing back a stray piece of hair from where it is falling into his face. The ribbon that had constrained was lost what seems like an eternity ago. "I'm not going anywhere, Alexander. You're being so good now that you've done fighting."  
Below, John takes Alexander's cock into his mouth in one gulp that elicits a strangled kind of noise from him and a writhe - but when she tells him he is good, he stills.  
"I struggle too much," he protests weakly, all his attentions focusing on John's lips moving and down his staff. Any vanity he assumes in court or congress seems so two dimensional in comparison to her actual, worrisomely self-aware Mister Hamilton: the man that can barely seem to accept the praise he has earned. "I cursed at you, I tried to kick Laurens, I am like a wild animal scrapping for any kind of power-"  
"You're a lap dog." she objects, quieting him with a finger to his lips and watching the arch of his body turn taut at some minuscule movement of John's tongue. "You bite only when you are wound up to do so, Alex, and all that you really crave is..."  
His mouth falls open and she takes the opportunity to push one finger inside. A tremor seems to run through his entire frame, but then- oh God, he is sucking on it.  
"Affection."  
Her voice is a gasp, and she had so planned to keep ahold of her decorum in the face of Alexander's coming apart. Never mind. Laurens glances up at her with smiling eyes, then sinks down impossibly further on her husband's cock, until he should rationally choke. The first time he did that she was so transfixed with the same disgusting passion that compels her to tie down her husband and their lover and have her way with them so roughly - probably almost the same thing that compels them to enjoy it. Now, though, she knows well enough to catch quick hold of Alexander's hips and press them to the mattress so that he doesn't hurt him. One more stuttered thrust, two, and Alexander is all of a sudden finishing down Laurens's throat; the older boy coughs slightly, but laughs and winces comically at the taste.  
When she gestures for him to sit next her at the side of the exhausted Alexander, he shakes his head.  
"I would not think this mouth was fit for you." he rasps out. Alexander groans at the audible evidence of their union in John's voice.  
And Eliza can only smile wickedly, because John knows that his tongue is talented in a different way to Alexander's, but still one that they value well.  
"Isn't it wonderful," she asks to them both, reclining back so that she can look into the lost expression on her husband face. "That when Alexander behaves, he does it so prettily?"  
He makes a whining noise as she brushes the backs of her fingers up his ribcage, helplessly jerking as far away as he can within the small confines of the rope, but she knows what it is that he wants once he has climaxed. At this point he is too warm and sated (and goddamn grateful) to ask for it, but she knows.  
John knows too, because he hurries back once he has cleaned himself, and lies on the other side of Alexander so that they are flush from head to toe, and on her nod they both cuddle in close to him. He exhales in relief- and because her brain is not occupied with pleasure so urgently, Eliza is free to wonder again, _how deprived of simple comforts must he have been?_  
When Alexander shifts as though he means to speak, she presses him back into the bed. Laurens has always been too perceptive about such things, though, too. He moves up onto his elbow and glances at her.  
"My satisfaction will come later." she answers, at their unspoken questions. "What's important right now is Alexander."  
He seems to laugh a little at that, and Laurens, attuned to his moods, recognises the signal to embrace again. Their Hamilton is prone to bouts of self-doubt at least, if not self-hatred. He is a bastard, orphan, immigrant, whore's-son, after all, and that is hardly considered a pleasant thing to be.  
"Whatever did I do to deserve you?" he says, and his eyes begin to smoulder again, more gently than before. "Both of you."  
There is nothing they can say to that, but there is nothing that they need to. He knows. He is a rich man now - by virtue of their marriage, incidentally - and so, when she unties him, he will sleep in comfort on a soft bed, and in the morning he will have bruises around his wrists that he will shiver as he buttons his shirt cuffs over, an injured mouth that the general, among others, will cluck disapprovingly at, and mussed hair that he will hide by scraping it tight into a ponytail. Laurens will cough and pretend that his rough throat is a sign of impending illness, will pull up his trousers over bruises much the same.  
And no one will be any the wiser.


End file.
